


A summary of time

by hoodpearlwood



Category: Bodyguard (TV 2018), British Actor RPF, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: A little bit of fate, A little bit of rain, Angst, Books, Bookstores, Developing Friendships, F/M, Falling In Love, First Meetings, Fluff, Friendship, Friendship/Love, Getting to Know Each Other, Like really slow, Literal Sleeping Together, London Underground, Meet-Cute, Mental Health Issues, Moving to a new city, Other, Slow Burn, Traveling, Warm and Fuzzy Feelings, feeling utterly out of place, navigating through a new life, small details of life
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-13
Updated: 2019-08-19
Packaged: 2020-05-07 09:01:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19206148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hoodpearlwood/pseuds/hoodpearlwood
Summary: Moving to a new city is difficult.  So how do you find the place where you belong?By taking every day the way it comes: may it be a nervous breakdown in the Tube or a nice stranger on the way home: one little step after another.





	1. Split glass

**Author's Note:**

> A virtual hug to all of you who ever felt so deeply alone in a sea of strangers.

The day that I met him was the same day that I realized, for the first time and in its full extension, that I had lost my compass.  
In the first case figuratively and, later said day, literally as well.

I was taking the Tube home. Pressed between a tall suit-bearer, whose breath I could feel on my neck, and a pack of uniformed teenagers chatting along loudly , I couldn’t help but stare into the black nothingness that filled the window while the northern line was rushing along, climbing further north from the square mile that called itself 'City of London'.  
Cold dread began to fill my heart, as I tried to reach into the pocket of my coat, not being able to feel the cold metal of my compass. I was standing on the verge of a cliff, as I frantically padded down every inch of my body and my bag, unable to find that small treasured item. I lost my balance. Falling backwards towards the abyss: that sadness, that seemed all consuming. Never to know when I would land and if something of myself would be still there if I did.  
And suddenly too many thoughts crowded my mind. Too many things pressed themselves into the foreground; bi and urgent just to be noticed, leaving me helplessly without any anchor hooked to reality.  
I had left the place I had grown accustomed to. Had thought it to be any kind of home, without knowing what that word could mean. All that not just a month ago. And now that the shine of the new and unexpected had worn off and my body seemed to realize that I was staying, my mind caught up as well right then and there.  
I wanted to be here.  
I wanted to sit between strangers every day and commute to work for an hour. I wanted to run into tourist and be utterly snobbish about their behaviour, their slow movements through the streets that were not that familiar yet to myself. And I wanted to see, to live and breath everything that the future here promised . All those things that were to be expected and the thousand more that were just going to happen.  
I wanted all that and yet why was I so sad, so utterly lonely?

I needed air, I needed space just to not feel like everything around me was crushing down on. To spare myself the shock of looking into someone's eyes I opened up my book and tried to continue reading. But within the next page, tears dwelled over my eyes. Helpless as I was tried to stop them, to hide from onlookers and simply crawle away like an hurt animal into a warm and cosy cave. So I let my hair fall into my face and jumped up as soon as the Tube came to the next station. Just when I stepped into the humid day outside did I notice that I had gone off at least two stops early from home.  
So I started walking, slowly and with a heavy heart. Trying to erase the outer signs of my sadness, my confusion.  
And as I kept on walking, past Boots, past Tesco express and the odd charity shop, my steps slowed down. Just going to my flat and locking myself into my room would not help, not yet at least. I needed a kind of no-mans-land: somewhere were I could not fall down the self pity route and yet feel somehow safe and secure. And like sesame that opened itself up my gaze fell onto a bookshop at the end of the high street. 

As I browsed through the newly published editions, the bestsellers and racehorses of the literature world, I found my mind adrift; numb and soft like a cloud. Between all those stories I was not important any more. Just a small light between all the others in the dark. My feet touched the ground again, the aching in my chest was just a numb throbbing, not the flooding storm that it had been. The trembling of my heart gone.  
Time passed and I lost track. The longer I stayed the more books and pamphlets found their way into my small pile. A text from my roommate, asking if I was alright, brought me to reality.  
I headed to the small queue with just a paperback in my hands; anything else my budget could not handle right now. But I was inattentive as I tried to find my wallet inside my bag, and I tumbled into the man waiting ahead of me. He turned with an irritated look on his face. Like someone who had been so deeply in thought that he was astonished to still be on earth.  
I mumbled an excuse, heat rising on my skin and knowing that I was turning red I dropped my gaze, checking the time on my phone. Today seemed to test me, letting me fall into emotional lows of despair and embarrassment after one another.  
Another till opened up and I rushed towards the cashier with my book, ready to be released and to sit in my armchair by the window and read the newly acquired pages. Luckily for me the cashier seemed to be entirely elsewhere in his mind, bored to death by us mere mortals, and not interested in any kind of communication with me beside the obligatory „´ave-nice-day“.  
I stepped outside and within seconds the sunlight, that had warmed my back earlier was dimmed by steel grey clouds and in worry I looked up, wondering if I would make it home dry or totally drenched in water. 

„Excuse me, did you just drop this?“ A voice called out. I looked around in bewilderment.  
„Pardon me?“  
„This compass, does it belong to you?“ It was the man form the queue earlier. His Scottish accent not yet heavy enough to be misunderstood by me. And indeed, he held it up. The dimm metal, darkened with years of use on the surface, the needles not working any longer and a spring right through the glass.  
„Oh…“ words could not slip through the numb in my throat. I was being silly, nearly crying over an object that wasn’t even functioning properly. It seemed like I just couldn’t help myself today.  
„Yes that’s mine“ I took it out from him, my small token still warm from his hand.  
„Ridiculous really… just earlier on the Tube I thought I had lost it for good. Thank you very much.“ My voice tumbled slightly over the words, my tongue not yet utterly familiar with the flow of this language from day to day.  
„So it was you, crying earlier on the underground, right?“ He took a step closer, the slightest glimmer of concern in his eyes.  
I crossed my arms, my cheeks red of embarrassment, again. This was too much.  
„Uhm, yeah I guess…“  
„Are you alright now? Do you need any help?“  
I could only stare at him.  
„Well.. I saw you crying and I wanted to reach out, but before I could do anything you jumped up and away.“ My silence made him unsure; quiver in is words.  
„My apologies. I didn’t want to be nosy and bother you.“ He turned to go, hands buried in the pockets of his coat and shoulders raised against the aroused wind facing us.  
„No, wait!“ I followed his steps, put my hand on his arm and jerked it away as soon as we touched. No need for me to be so touchy. The English were not accustomed to that and he probably already thought that I was a lunatic.  
„I just- „ my brain seemed to be incapable to find the right words, „merde.. I just moved here and today was a tough day and then I couldn’t find my compass, so you know.. things got a bit messy.“  
He listened to me with a slightly raised eyebrow and a look on his face, that I just could not read.  
„So, thank you for asking.“ Now it seemed to be my turn of being unsure of the next procedure. His words surprised me even more.  
„You know- it gets better; this whole thing.“ He gestured around the street, „ 'the moving and leaving everything you knew behind'- thing. Just don’t let the loneliness consume you. Otherwise, you will be fine.“ He smiled, and I could see in the depths of his eyes that he had been at the same point as I had found myself earlier today.  
„Merci beaucoup“ I did not know what else to say, although being deeply touched by his words.  
That was when the first raindrop splashed on my nose and heavens gate opened itself up and within seconds water streamed down our faces.  
„Will you be fine on your way home?“ He brushed his hair out of his face, his eyes still locked with mine.  
„Yes, I’ll be alright. Again: thank you- for everything.“  
„My pleasure. See you around“ he just smiled at me and walked away; leaving me speechless.

I shivered, but quickly gathered myself and started to walk along the high street. Although by now wet and cold, I could not feel any of that; everything was just unreal. I turned; tried to reason that this conversation had even taken place, if I could just make out his figure. And there he was, looking back at me.  
His last words still ringing in my ears. They had sounded more like a promise. I wished they would come true. He raised his hand in a silent greeting and only continued walking away as I did.


	2. black and white

The second time that we met was equally unexpected. In a way that even made me doubt it had happened at all. 

Time passed.  
The days grew longer and the weather was turning revengeful. Endless sunshine and warmth were the epitome of the following weeks.  
And I had found myself forgetting that afternoon. To be honest not really forgetting; more trying not think too much about it. Not to interpret every little gesture and word and fantasize about the ‚what-If‘ that would wrap around my brain and leave me sleepless. This had been something entirely else, and I feared that this sole memory would be altered if I revisited it too much, that me overthinking would change something and that the words would break away.

Living in London was something surreal. And although I never dreamed about it as a child, as more days passed, the more I walked through the lanes and high streets, the more I could feel myself falling, deeply and utterly in love of course. And I had that deep urge in me, the gut instinct that this was right. That I was supposed to be here, exactly where I was standing, or walking or even crying in a corner.  
Moving had hurt; leaving everything you knew behind. And reliving that first frightful weeks even more. The uncertainty of taking the Tube for the first time and the nagging thoughts that followed you everywhere before you knew for certain how exactly you would finance all of this.  
But after I had met him, the certainty that I wanted all of that was stronger, more self-assured. And the mantra-like thoughts that this was something that would change me were echoing in my head on every other occasion when doubts and that frightful slow thumbing, the beast that crawled and hurt itself in my chest, seemed to come back. 

In the distant lightning was flashing over the night sky. So quick and thorough that no thunder was to be heard yet. I tried to follow the storm through the window, even shielding my eyes from the yellow light of the train I was sitting in. The landscape we were riding through was just a dark notion, only enlightened when the dance of several lightning bolts were long enough. A booming crash shook through the plexiglass, resonating in my chest. The first thunder even made me jump a bit and I sat up straight in my seat again , coming back from the dark land that changed its grey outlines every time a lightning bold discharged itself.  
I tried to focus on the not so small book in front of me again. It was a leather-bound journal, fattened up with to many scraps and token pressed between its pages. A thin fountain pen was, already unscrewed, laying next to it. I traced my own writing with the tip of my finger, waiting for that small spark to let the words flow. It should not be that hard, writing about the day, what I had seen. But it was: laying the slightest trace of my feelings bare . I couldn’t change that. Deep down I thought I should not bother, that this journal was made for something better to be written on instead from silly old me.  
I closed my eyes, thought about the beach and the waves that had curled themselves around my feet not even an hour ago and filled the first line with ink. 

Someone dropped something, a salve of muttered curses followed. I didn’t let my eyes and thoughts wander away again. It was late in the evening on a Monday night, hardly anyone was taking the train from Brighton to London now, and the odd ones would be strange figures in their own right, so I was altogether better off ignoring the world around me.

„Excuse me-“ the man from the seat on the other side of the aisle was leaning towards me, his headphone draped around his neck, „ do you’ve got an iPhone charger by any chance?“ With an apologetic smile he jiggled his phone slightly.  
„I’m not sure, let me check.“ I closed my journal and rampaged around my bag. Underneath books and knickknacks the familiar cable slipped through my hand. But I hesitated while untangling it.  
„I don’t want to steal it. It’s just my mobile’s dead and I really need to call someone back“.  
„It’s fine; take it.“ I tipped over the empty seat next to me and reached over the aisle. „You just have to check sometimes if it is properly charging. The cable is a bit wonky.“  
„Thanks a lot.“ He gave me a short nod and only when he turned away, did I get the feeling that I had seen him before. It was nagging in the back of my mind. Right then my phone started ringing to the tunes of „hooked on a feeling“ far too loud for the emptiness of the train. The picture of my mum was blinking on the screen and I picked it up with mixed feelings.

My mind was crowded with thoughts that were not mine and the voice of my mother was still going on. So I was rather relieved when I could hear her door bell ring and she hurriedly said goodbye. I put the phone down in front of me, closing my eyes and sighing deeply. I loved her, I really did, but now that we had talked to each other I could not separate her opinions from mine. Two brushes soaked with colour, creating muddy water. I tried to picture the sky again, high above me and seagulls glancing down, but the safe glow and warm shine of the memories were gone or buried, and I could feel my mind circling down, hyper focusing on things that were only letting me spiral more and more.

„The next station is Haywards Heath. Please mind the gap between the train and the platform.“ 

I opened my eyes, glancing down the aisle to see if anyone was heading for the seats around me, only to notice, that my seated neighbor was looking at me.  
„Well, thank you for the charger.“ He rolled up the cable, gave it a twist and reached over to give it back to me.  
„Oh, don’t worry. Glad I could help.“ I noticed that my accent was getting heavier. This made me nervous, and I could not quite determine what it was exactly, only that he had a part in it.  
„Impossible to have one free day, without being in trouble the second you do not answer the phone“ there was a slight frown gliding over his face. And when he looked back at me something changed in his eyes , as he seemed to see me properly for the first time.  
„We've met before, haven’t we? In front of the Waterstones on Camden High street, right?“ My denial died on my lips, as the event came back to me.  
„Oh - Yes, of course. I remember.“  
„I’m glad you’ve found your way over the borders of London, it nearly took me a year to even consider going down to Croydon.“  
„ I figured sooner or later I should try to flee from the smog“ Without noticing the both of us had switched seats, closer to one another.  
„I want to thank you for what you said to me that day.“ As soon as I spoke the words, I realized they had been true. Only up to this point I thought I would never have the chance to say them out loud to him.  
„ For picking up something that belonged to you? That’s just being decent.“ His hand tousled through his hair, his gaze lowered, as if he was nervous.  
„ No, for being kind.“ Something shifted between us. Maybe he knew all that was standing behind that word, maybe he didn’t.  
„What is your name?“ His question caught me off guard.  
„ I’ m Aldou.“  
„ Well it’s nice to see you again Aldou. My names is Richard.“

And after that the words were flowing of my lips, the unfamiliar vowels slipping from my thoughts like velvet. The more we talked the more fluent my sentences became. At one point during our conversation I offered him the seat opposite mine. I had not even been thinking about it, just when we had to pause for the third time because someone was coming down the aisle, the words had left my mouth. He simply grabbed his bag and came over.  
It was easy with him.  
The way he asked me questions, which were challenging and smart, but not personal, and the way he really did seemed to listen to my answers. The thing was, we did talk about all and nothing ,but at the end of the evening, I could not have told someone his favourite restaurant in the city or the worst holiday he ever had.  
Yet I learned about his silliest memory as a child, the worst hangovers and the things that just seemed to happen on the underground without anyone really caring. About the way that the half read novels were stacking up from the floor to the brim of his bed, continuously growing still, and his repeating wish to just keep a plant alive for more than three months, but failing each time miserably. He told me how bright and vast the night sky in Scotland was and the way the branches of the cherry tree in the backyard of his parents garden had slowly crushed under his weight, when he had been 14 and wanted to have a look around the top one last time.  
„ That was the defining moment I knew I wasn’t a child anymore.“ his heartfelt chuckle cutting the earnestness of his words.  
„That must have hurt.“  
„Only my young ego“ as we laughed together, our gazes locked and I could feel the heat rise on my face. Oddly enough he was the first one to break, scanning the now cramped, table, for something to change the topic with. His eyes landed on the camera.  
„So you only do not read like a maniac, you are also a mad photographer as well I assume?“  
„Well, I try.“ I picked up the old polaroid camera, very chunky and screaming 80’s. „Last time I flew with it the security guard needed to check my bag solely because they couldn’t identify it.“  
„ ‚Sorry ma’am, please step aside: we need to check that bomb please’“ he imtitated a very bored security guard, even his accent changed, and both of us needed to laugh.  
„And what do you take pictures of? … besides strangers on a train.“ he added after I clapped open the top and put him in focuse.  
„Nothing special. The thames, trees in the parks, the odd sight.“  
„And then?“  
„What ‚then‘?“  
„What do you do with them?“  
„Nothing. Those picture are only for me; my small token from something worth remembering on.“ The light banter stopped, betrayed by the earnesty in my voice.  
Richard had leaned forward on the table, his head supported by his right hand, and simply stared out of the window, while listening to my words. Eyes slightly hooded by the weariness and fatigue of a long day, searching outside our train. The night had tilted the frame, and suddenly every word and smallest gesture was something entirly else from what it would be on broad daylight.  
The click of the camera surprised him and he watched the polaroid slowly crawling out the mouth with raised eyebrows.  
„I’m entirely certain you just wasted a whole good picture. That could have been a child crying over spilled ice cream in front of Buckingham palace.“ Eventhough he tried to joke about it, I knew I should not have done that.  
„I’m sorry, I should’ve asked you first.“I tried to explaine, „but that right there, seemed to be you… without any- I don’t really know how to explain it in english. I only want to remember all of this.“  
I placed the polaroid between us on the table; it’s surface still a distinguishing blue.  
„It’s alright Aldou, don’t worry“  
Both of us were silent while we watched it develope, the surface changing to black and white and gray, a small version of Richard looking out a black window.  
„Thats really good.“ he sounded surprised.  
„I’m as surprised as you are.“  
„It would only be fair if i took one of you now as well“ a cheeky grin on his lips.  
„No!“  
„Why not? You said those pictures are about remembering, why don’t you want to remember yourself?“  
For so many reason, none of which I could say out loud. He sensed my discomfort.  
„Alright, how about I ask you kindly for one, because I want to remember this as well?“ he was scrufeling up his own hair again. How could I refuse?  
„Okay.“

We were both quiet, our tired eyes locked on details around us, to lazy and exhausted to move anywhere else. Yet the silence between us was not uncomfortable ; there was no emptiness that we needed to fill up with words. This was different, like we were reading the same book and were following the same sentence. So natural and guarded that I could feel my tired heart catching a breath, reawakened and thumbing away.  
A thought seemed to cross his mind, because he sat up. Just then the train came into a station and the doors opened.

„This is London Blackfriars. Change here for London underground and thames riverboat service. Please mind the gap between the train and the platform.“  
I jumped up, my sleep deprived brain to slow for the bold that had sped through my whole body.  
„Shit! This is my station!“ frantically I scrambled together all my belongings, while slipping into my jacket.  
„What- do you mean like ‚now‘?“ Richard seemed dispuzzled.  
„Yes; sorry- I see you soon, I promise!“ and I jumped through the locking doors.  
Richard had followed me, only to be blocked by the closed doors. He seemed to say something, pushing the button to open them, right when the train started moving again. He searched for my figure on the deserted platform, rasing his hand, as if he wanted to stop time, to holt the moment and turn it back.

And only then, when I could see no more of him, did my grave mistake occurred to me.  
How could I just have slipped away, without any means of contacting him again?  
And that warm feeling that had filled me up when I was with him, leaked, flowed away, and regret and a great sense of losing something dear filled me up instead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "like something is brewing about to begin"  
> P. L. Travers
> 
> Late night train rides and a thunderstorm, what better setting to have meet them again.  
> Thank you all for the kudos, and I hope you liked this chapter as much as it tormented me to write it.  
> Until next time  
> xx  
> pearl


	3. stage fright

And that was it.  
I had totally sabotaged anything that could have happened. But right then, the moment I realized that we already were at Blackfriars, my old instinct, to be right and proper and to stay within the tracks had taken over. I was not really thinking anything.  
The moment the doors closed themselves between us, the moment I turned around and saw Richards face behind the logo of the national railway service, utterly puzzled and with a look of betrayal in his eyes, I knew of my mistake.

The next morning , while the light outside was still grey and innocent and before my alarm had set off, I looked over to the picture, leaning against the stack of books on my nightstand. The curls of his slightly to long hair, his long fingers cupping his face, his gaze thoughtful and sunken into memories.  
The black and white overlapped with the still vivid images from last night, and the way I had felt in his company. I relived them, over and over.

And after my hour long commute to and from work, after I could not concentrate on a single word of the book I was reading, because I kept on staring into the faces of fellow commuters, hoping I would see him, in this sea of humans, in this metropole of 8 million citizens, after all of that I decided to pack all those things away and let those bright memories roll down into the archives of my mind. Hidden from the day to day routine and secure from a restless mind that would replay them time and time again. Once I arrived at home, I turned around the picture and wrote „Richard, Brighton to London“ on the back of it; taped it onto an entire empty page in my journal, and made sure that this particular page was closed at all times. 

And suddenly life was good.  
It had been a while since I could have said that whole heartedly, since I could feel the warmth of it spreading through my bones and since it had filled me up, utterly and pure, without any doubts and dark clouds brooding in the back.

 

The people in the foyer were not an intimidating mass, overspending my very own thoughts with their buzz, but rather electrifying and vibrating with life and energy and I felt that I was part of it in some way; not just a bystander and onlooker. It was the premiere a lesser known Shakespeare play, and all of us members of the audience were still crowding the bar area of the Bridge Theatre; a thunder storm lightning up the evening sky outside and rain violently splashing down on everyone who dared to go out.  
Kate was laughing loudly, and I came back from the depths of my mind.

„Thats bollocks Glen.“ If this conversation had taken place fifteen years prior , she would have waved around her hands luxuriously with a smoking cigarette between the ruby tips of her fingers, but instead the whisky tumbler was waved in Glens general direction.  
„Careful;That’s crème linen!“ He jumped slightly back, his hands caressing the collar of his shirt. „I just said that there aren’t any contemporary foreign-language authors of interest at the moment. Quiet simple.“  
Kate caught my gaze and noticeably rolled her eyes. At least he was the reason we had these tickets for the premier.  
„Well: thats bollocks Glen“ and as soon as I had spoken and as soon he noticed my accent he turned bright red. Stammering on, he tried to save himself, especially in the eyes of Kate.  
I noticed that my glass was empty and turned to my friend.  
„ I’ll meet you at our seats, alright?“ She squeezed my shoulders as I slipped pass her, hearing snippets of conversations and laughter.  
Instead of queuing at the bar I decided to fill up my glass with tap water. Being drunk in public, even the slightest, made me still uncomfortable. No chance of finding the way home when the Tube map was even to my sober brain still a complex algebra equation.  
A wave of fresh air caressed my skin, the fine film of sweat that was coating my skin cooling down (pressed against all those bodies in the middle of a thunderstorm did that to you). Suddenly in need of a lone minute I walked threw the closing doors.  
Rain dripped down my arm, as I reached out and I felt myself smiling. I leaned onto one of the columns, the Tower Bridge glooming in the near distance, and wondered about the twists my life had taken.  
I could not believed that being alive would be like his; how one could find themself at this very spot, after tears and heartbreak, and sunken dreams, and not feel how lucky one could be.  
I was living abroad, standing on my own feet, and slowly developed friendships with people I genuinely enjoyed spending time with and talking to. For christ sake: because of Kate I was at a bloody premier of this theater play; I even had nearly run over the great Dame Maggie Smith earlier on my way to the loo.  
I grabbed this realization, holding it tight to my heart and tried to imprint it on the skins of my soul, in case I began doubting my decision so far in life ever again.  
The first bell rang, the ring floating slightly muted to me.  
I took another sip off my water and headed back indoors, the security guard holding open the door for me. 

After placing the glass on the tightly packed counter of the Bar, I followed the few dawdlers that were left down the stairs. My steps slowly came to hold as I was trying to remember the exact position of my seat, both entries to the stalls in front of me. 

And he was just right there.

Talking to another man, while holding open the door. The blue shirt sprinkled with wet dots on his back.  
I called out his name, the vowels unfamiliar in my mouth, yet the meaning they were holding so very clear in my head. This time I would not waste a single word unspoken, not the smallest gesture undone.  
He looked around, his posture guarded, until he spotted me.  
Right then doubt filled me.  
What if he was hurt by the way I had vanished last time we had seen each other? What If he did not wanted to see me again; what if he was here with his spouse and wished not to be disturbed?

But he saw me, slightly afar in a dress that was one size too big, and beamed. A smile lightning up his face.  
He said something to his companion, and before I could decide if I should go to him, he rushed over and hugged me; leaving me slightly stiff and perplex.

The thing is, when you start living on your own, far way from the friends you grew up with, from your parents, physical contact becomes something rare. A special touch celebrated on rare occasions; something you had to earn somehow. I was starving for the careless touches from my best friend, the lovingly stroking over my hair by my mum. But once I felt Richards arms around me, the warmth of his body and the broadness of his shoulders, my whole skin started sizzling, my heartbeat rushing under his unfamiliar touch. 

„Aldou!“ He held me at an arm length, taking in my whole figure .  
„I have to say: you do seem to pop up every time I though I had lost you for good.“  
„Yeah well- „ the final ring was interrupting us. I took a look around; just the two of us were still standing here. Richard seemed to be oblivious to that.  
How I wished to just sit down with him and forget the world around us together! Yet the tickets had been a gift and not showing up to the second half would be rude. I looked at him again and grabbed his hand.  
„Meet you upstairs at the bar after the play?“  
„Oh- well, yes of course!.“  
„ Alright… promise?“  
„I swear.“  
And before I could change my mind, I slipped through the stalls entrance to the right. The light were already being dimmed and I quickly made my way down the aisle towards my seat next to Kate. She gave me a quick look.  
„What happened?“ She had leaned over and whispered in my ear, „ you’re smiling like a love-dosed twat… why are you smiling like that?“  
I covered my lips with my hand and whispered back.  
„It’s nothing really. Talk to you later.“ 

The play went on, dialog filling the room and bodies moved smoothly on stage, scenes flew into each other. Yet nothing stuck. The thought, that Richard was only rows away, in the same dark space watching the same gestures that I saw, brought me off my mind.  
I do not want to say that I was relieved when the play was done, because I had rather enjoyed the first half, but the fact that I jumped to my feet as soon as the actors had left the stage for the final curtain draw might have seemed contradicting.

„Whatever is the matter with you?“ Kate gave me a cautious look, while I tried to spot Richard in the mass of people trying to leave the audience hall.  
„Yes, I liked the play as well. Was quite good actually.“ Only when she laughed out loud, did I realize what she had been saying before. Still grinning, she slipped her arm under mine, guiding us to the exits.  
„Let me help you little dove.“ In that moment a wave of affection towards Kate came over me, and I squeezed her hand. I was amazed how easy we had hid it off at work, her strikingly funny comments letting the hours pass by quicker, but now I felt a trusting bond slowly growing between us .  
„You know, I’m really grateful that I’ve gotten to known you better.“  
„Oh stop it.“ She was playing it cool, but I had the feeling that my words affected her. 

I gave up trying to spot Richard after that, but I was still properly nervous: caused by a combination of two equally possible scenarios. The first actually seeing Richard again; the second that we would run by each other and not meet again. I tried to take a deep breath but the air around us was used and hot. The dominant part of me wanted just to leave, breath the rain cooled air outside and walk away, forgetting Richard, forget that we ever saw each other again. That would be easy, but I had used the easy way out too many times before. And I wanted to listen to him speak again, hear his heartfelt laughter and the passion in his eyes when he told me about something dear to him. Living on your own two feet was not something for cowards.

„Who is he?“  
„Who is who?  
„Stupid owl. I’m talking about the one you are still trying to spot in this hellhole of rich white guys.“ Kate had stopped at the upper landing of the stairs.  
„Well…“  
„Don’t you ‚well‘ me, love.“  
„Would it be alright if I could say that I can’t quite describe it in english?“  
„No, because I know that you speak three languages fluently and in your sleep, while I’m struggling with only this one.“  
„You know that I hang up on words when I’m nervous, but thats not the point“ I paused, trying to think of a way I could narrate her through something of which I was not even quite sure was happening.  
„I don’t quite know how describe him but he has helped me before and then we randomly saw each other on a train again and now I can’t miss him again.“  
„His name would’ve have suited me just fine.“ She scuffed me in the shoulders, the look in her eyes contradicting her very words. But her features changed, like something had dwelled up inside of her, made her think of times long gone by, and she left me on my own, taken care of the excuse to get her umbrella from the wardrobe.

I let my eyes wander along the room, over the nodding heads and gesturing hands, but I saw no sign of Richard. And just when I felt that the rabbit thoughts would overtake and the overthinking would get worse, I straightened my back and told myself to stop. I did what my counsellor had told me to do so many years prior, and let the breaths go deep down my lungs, filling me with air and oxygen. Maybe I feared, in a strange way, what was laying ahead of me, but at least I knew now that no matter what it was, I could deal with it.

I leaned against the counter, a water-glass between my hands and I was following the movements fo the bartenders, bustling along, creating cocktails and holding orders. Someone placed a half full wineglass next to my hand, the long fingers looking familiar.  
„What is a place like you doing in a girl like this?“ His accent flowing away like round pebbles in a soft stream.  
„Sorry -what?“ I could not help but laugh, his sentence absolutely making no sense to me.  
„Ah fuck, I had it all wrong, hadn’t I?“ he covered his face with his hands, doing a mediocre job of hiding his cheeky grin. Richard took a sip of his wine, shifting to face me.  
„It’s really good to see you again Aldou.“  
I reached out, placing my hand lightly on his, feeling the faint rhythm of his heartbeat under my fingers. But before I could say anything Kate burst into our little bubble, Glen close on behind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everyone,  
> I am so terribly sorry that it took me sooo lang to post this chapter. I had a massive writers block and (surprisingly) a very packed social life. And to be honest I am still not happy about the way this bad boy turned out, so I ended the chapter earlier than planed.  
> Anyway, thank you all for leaving comments ( I will answer them soon!) and I hope you enjoyed it.  
> xxx

**Author's Note:**

> Who hasn't cried alone in public and wished someone would just be kind?  
> What might happen next..?  
> xx  
> pearl


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